


Ghost Stories

by ActualHurry



Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Memories, Not A Fix-It, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, pre act 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: When Kojiro poaches five of the Straw Hats for his duels, Ryuzo shares a different tale of Sakai Jin with each of them before they go.(Spoilers for Act 2 and the Six Blades of Kojiro quest.)
Relationships: Ryuzo & The Straw Hats, Sakai Jin/Ryuzo
Comments: 26
Kudos: 146





	Ghost Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Hirotsune’s line about “Ryuzo’s stories” had me wondering about all the stories Ryuzo might have told his men, and then with every emotion Ryuzo is juggling in Act 2, I started thinking they’d probably get pretty sentimental… and here we are. 
> 
> Weird disclaimer: Idk if this is an “unpopular opinion”, I think the game is very transparent about it, but I don’t actually think Ryuzo cares about his men because he’s a good person or whatever…it’s less that he cares about his men because he like, loves them, and more because having command validates him and his ambition and self-sufficiency. He doesn’t get torn up over Jin killing his men because they’re his men, he gets torn up over it because, like he says, “I lost everything.” There's also that line to Jin where he urges him that he "needs this." He gets mad about the deserters. So yeah. Tl;dr I guess, Ryuzo’s selfish, but he’s also just a product of the very classist system present in Ghost. 
> 
> Anyway, that’s hard to portray from his POV. But I couldn’t rest until I let that be known somewhere, somehow, LOL, because I strongly feel I didn’t hit home the way I wanted in this! Still, it was fun to write.

“Many have listened to my stories and heard my songs,” Yamato, the musician, says. With a bowed head, his shrewd eyes peek up at Ryuzo. “It would be impossible in these times for me to recall every one of them.” 

Ryuzo settles his weight heavier on one foot, eyeing Yamato with dry interest. “You remember every word of your stories but you can’t recall if _Sakai Jin_ has visited with you?” His name in Ryuzo’s mouth feels crooked, and he narrowly avoids twisting his lips as if he’s tasted something sour. 

Yamato glances away. “Ah, ronin…you know my skill so well already, why not sit and enjoy a story for yourself?”

Ryuzo’s lips flatten into a small smile. “No need. We have one of your stories walking with us.”

Ryuzo watches Yamato turn his attention towards him once more, sees his eyes widen in shock and his breath stall altogether. Ryuzo does not need to turn around to know Kojiro has appeared nearly soundlessly behind him; his shadow-like presence is enough on its own. Yamato’s gaze darts all over the man behind Ryuzo, as if the sunlight on Kojiro’s robes will suddenly transform the man into something other than the legend that he is.

“You — you are…Ko-Kojiro,” stammers the musician, instantly sinking lower on his goza mat, as if it will swallow him if he tries hard enough. Against the ground, Yamato speaks again, sounding no less terrified. “The exiled Straw Hat, Kojiro?” 

“Exiled no more,” Kojiro says, menace alive in his voice. 

Ryuzo steps aside, not entirely willing to get between Kojiro and whatever fury he wants to exact upon Yamato. His hand rests lightly on his sheath. Just in case. “Now,” he says to Yamato, “do you mind telling us again which of your tales Sakai Jin has heard?”

The forest chatters with birdsong as Yamato lifts his head only enough to be heard. Leaves drift through the air, carried on the lightest breeze, and daytime glistens down on the wetlands outside of Umugi Cove, Yamato’s voice soft but strong as he tells them.

In the end, none of it is information that Ryuzo doesn’t already have. He’s seen Jin perform the Heavenly Strike, has even felt its cutting edge upon his own body, ruthlessly swift. And on the ship, when they searched for food together and left with empty hands, he’d witnessed Jin’s archery himself as he’d plucked that longbow string back and sent arrow after arrow into countless Mongols — arrows that exploded on impact, bright and loud. Uchitsune’s bow didn’t seem to be cursed, but those it struck might say otherwise.

“Wouldn’t it be likely then that Lord Sakai will seek you out again, here in Toyotama?” asks Kojiro suddenly. 

Ryuzo’s fingers tighten on his sheath.

“…Likely, likely,” says Yamato. “Is it that you intend on racing Lord Sakai to other mythic tales…?”

“Not at all,” says Kojiro. “Pass on a message to him for me.” Now, Ryuzo looks sidelong at Kojiro, holding his breath as Kojiro continues, “Tell him that five of the finest Straw Hat swordsmen will be waiting to duel him. And once he earns the right to unsheath his blade in front of me, I will be the sixth.” 

Yamato inhales sharply, lips parted to answer — an agreement already on his tongue, most likely, considering the beads of sweat on his brow — when Kojiro interrupts, “But first, tell him the tale of the demon Kojiro, or I will find you, and I will kill you. Your death will be the sweetest song you’ll ever play.” 

Ryuzo grinds his teeth together to hold his tongue as Yamato turns as gray as morning fog. “Y-yes, my lord,” Yamato breathes, as still as a statue as Kojiro nods and passes without a further word.

Ryuzo remains until Kojiro has disappeared into the throng of the other Straw Hats. Already it appears as if he’s singled out his five blades, drawing them into his orbit with but a wave.

Slowly, Ryuzo’s hand slides from his sheath. He pushes humid-sticky strands of hair from his forehead. “Is it true?” he asks. 

Yamato jerks to life on his mat, looking up at Ryuzo, still showing a sickly pallor. “I’m sorry?”

“Is he really a demon?” 

Yamato wets his lips and swallows thickly. “If you are asking this humble musician what he believes,” he says, words so soft they’re nearly drowned by birdcalls, “then the answer must be this: if there has ever been anyone to walk Tsushima who is more like a demon than Kojiro, I have not heard of them.”

“I’d thought that you’ve heard of everyone.” 

Yamato smiles, grim. “Precisely.” 

* * *

_A Ghost Tale (1/5)_

Ryuzo is out on a ride when he hears the rapid thud-clop rhythm of another horse; Kiyochika spurs his horse forward, eventually falling into step next to him. Ryuzo grants him a nod, and Kiyochika nods in turn.

“Kojiro has asked me to take up my sword against Lord Sakai,” Kiyochika informs him. It’s a formality, but Ryuzo appreciates his forthrightness all the same. Kiyochika is professional about his killing, and he stands out from the rest because of it. Ryuzo wants to tell him he doesn’t have to go, that Kojiro will understand; Ryuzo also does not like to lie to his men.

“I know,” Ryuzo says, looking ahead. 

“You know who the others are as well?” 

“Tomotsugu. Yasumasa. Hirotsune. Kanetomo.” Ryuzo guides his horse to the left, and then back the way they came; he’s been gone from camp more than long enough, it’s about time he returns. Can’t risk offending their allies, after all.

Kiyochika follows him. “What do you think?” 

Ryuzo glances over at him. Then, because Kiyochika deserves at least this much, he gives him sincerity: “I think you’re all stuck, either way. You face the Ghost, or you face the demon.”

Kiyochika’s chuckle is low and unamused. “Yes. Oh, well. It will be a tough day at work, right?” 

Neither of them say: if Ryuzo had not chosen to lead them into bed with the Mongols, then Kojiro would not have been welcomed back into the Straw Hats’ ranks, and he would not be delegating five of Ryuzo’s men to certain death.

“Kiyochika,” says Ryuzo.

“Yes.” 

“He’s relentless. He won’t let up. At least if he’s outnumbered and someone runs, he won’t hunt them down, that’s not the way he fights. But in a duel…” 

“It’s intimate,” Kiyochika muses, and it surprises Ryuzo into silence. “Isn’t it?” 

Ryuzo raises his brows. “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” 

Kiyochika only shakes his head, then switches subjects: “Tell me who you think is most likely to defeat Lord Sakai.” 

_Not you_ , Ryuzo thinks. _Because you fight for the money. You fight because it’s a job. He fights because his blood sings for it. He wields a sword because he was born into it. He duels as if in the circle with another person, it is his sole purpose to slice a long swathe right into victory. He could be stabbed a hundred times and every bone in his body could be broken, and he would stand again. He might really be a ghost._

It’s the truth that Jin is like no one Ryuzo has ever known. For as much Ryuzo cares about leading his men, he knows that to compare the Straw Hats to Sakai Jin is like holding a candle to the sun and asking which burns brighter.

“No, never mind,” Kiyochika decides then, as if he’s listening in somehow to Ryuzo’s thoughts himself. “I’ll draw my own conclusions.” 

They part opposite ways off the road to avoid a burning caravan, Mongol and Japanese arrows alike littering the ground. Then, coming together again with their horses trotting merrily, Ryuzo says, “I’m interested in hearing them. If you’re willing to share.”

Ever pragmatic, Kiyochika grins. “As you wish.” Sparing nothing, he speaks matter-of-fact and unbothered: “Kanetomo will be slaughtered where he stands. He’s spent too much time dulling his blade on those less skilled, only whetting his ego. Yasumasa, well…he may hold his own, but his anger will get the best of him and he’ll slip. You saw how excited he was when you said you’d take the bounty. Tomotsugu has the best chance of us all. He appreciates this opportunity, no matter the outcome.”

Ryuzo nods along. “And what of Hirotsune?”

Kiyochika sighs. “I think we would all like to see him emerge victorious. He’s looking forward to the fight, at least.” 

“But?”

“For all his skill, he’s blinded by the Ghost. Lord Sakai has been impressed upon him too deeply. He has only you to thank for that.”

“And what is it that I have done?”

“You speak very highly of your old friend,” says Kiyochika mildly. “You’ve given Hirotsune far too much respect for him.”

Ryuzo opens, then shuts his mouth. Kiyochika appears to be biting back a smile when Ryuzo looks at him. “It’s a wonder Hirotsune hasn’t been found dead on the end of his own sword after a too-eager run through the forest,” Ryuzo says wryly, but there’s a tinge of fondness. Hirotsune is not hard to get along with. As Kiyochika said: they would all like to see him win, and if it was any other duel, Ryuzo would feel the very same.

But this duel is against Sakai Jin, and Ryuzo knows who he’d want to see walk out on their own two feet.

“Kiyochika.” Ryuzo slows his horse as they near their camp; Kiyochika follows suit. “Do you want pointers?”

“I would be foolish to say no.” 

“You’re foolish to fight him in the first place,” Ryuzo says, shaking his head. “Not long before I joined the Straw Hats, there was Lord Nagao’s tournament. In the months before that, Jin and I trained together…”

***

Red leaves crunch underfoot as Ryuzo darts around one of Jin’s thrusts, the wooden end of his bokken nearly catching Ryuzo in the chest, but only nearly. He smoothly pivots, jams the grip of his bokken into Jin’s side, and then aims a low kick for his friend’s ankles while Jin is catching his breath.

Jin drops yet again that day, then flops onto his back completely as he glares up at Ryuzo.

“What?” Ryuzo says, trying not to sound as out of breath as he feels. “Now we’re even. Four-four.” 

“Yes, four-four — four bruises on four of my ribs.” Jin grunts, rolling onto his side and then onto his feet once more. “Again.” 

Wearily wiping sweat off of his own forehead, Ryuzo coughs a gutted laugh. “You’re joking.” 

Jin repeats, firm, “Again,” as he faces him.

The breeze scatters the falling leaves, maple edges brushing against Ryuzo’s form as he stares at the determined lines of Jin’s body. Jin’s feet are planted, his shoulders strong. His face, once round and soft, remains as gentle in appearance as it had in his youth, but there is a tug to his brow that brings a furrow, a grimace to his mouth that speaks of stubborn ire. 

By the time Ryuzo glances up to Jin’s eyes again, Jin is looking back at him.

Ryuzo does not mistake the flush of warmth on his nape for worked-up sweat from their sparring. “Not while you stare at me like you’re going to _actually_ stab me,” Ryuzo says to distract them both from the long look-over he’d just given Jin. Ryuzo lowers his bokken. “I need a break.” 

Jin puffs out a breath, relaxing his stance. “After your break, we use real swords.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Already walking to the edge of the lake nearby, Jin tosses a glance over his shoulder to Ryuzo. “I promise to aim only for the parts of your body that you don’t need.” 

“I need them _all_.” Ryuzo begins to follow him. “Name one part you think I don’t need.” Jin gives him a lowered, meaningful look and in response, Ryuzo starts to lift the bokken as if he’ll throw it like a spear at the back of Jin’s head. “Take that _back_ , Jin!” 

They both wash the sweat and dirt from their faces, then sit at the water’s edge together. Jin is the picture of Sakai elegance; his back, his profile, everything about him is eye-catching, but Ryuzo sticks to his own peaceful silence. To samurai, the breaths between battles are just as important as the battles themselves; Ryuzo knows this. He enjoys the downtime, but the world waits for no one, especially not him.

“Do you remember when we played boats in the river?” Jin asks, his quiet question summoning Ryuzo back from his reverie.

“I do,” says Ryuzo. “You hated getting water in your eyes. Whenever it happened, you’d squeeze them shut and use your sleeves to wipe them.” 

“Ah, yes…Yuriko still has to correct me at times,” Jin admits.

Ryuzo will never know what that’s like, being stopped from using his sleeves, any more than he’ll ever know the feeling of having the expectation of a generations’ old legacy on his back. He has to make his own legacy. He has to drive his own name into the foundation that Tsushima is built upon, and demand to be known. Jin needs only walk two steps into town and people recognize him, bow to him, honor him.

“Why real swords?” Ryuzo asks him, trying to let the breeze steal away the bitterness as it does the leaves.

“Lord Nagao’s tournament. We will be using our own weapons there. You know that I don’t often use my father’s… _my_ sword,” Jin murmurs. His eyes have been downcast since Ryuzo first asked, and now his gaze lifts from the water, his dark stare showing nothing but the honesty he always provides Ryuzo. “I would like to make the blade my own, and know it as such. That can’t happen if I never draw it outside of the necessary times.”

Sometimes, Ryuzo feels he and Jin are mountains apart from each other. Other times, he feels as if they’re no different than brothers. 

(Admittedly, they are nothing like brothers. Ryuzo has not a speck of _brotherly_ affection in his body for Jin. He knows that much about himself.) 

“Get your blade, then,” Ryuzo sighs. “But if you aim a single strike anywhere near my hakama…” 

Jin smiles with a flash of mischief. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Their eyes stay met for a moment too long, and when their stares break, Ryuzo could swear Jin’s gaze darts down with the quickness of lightning. Ryuzo opens his mouth and not a single thing comes out; besides, Jin is already standing, already walking away, already retrieving his sword.

Ryuzo’s head spins. He blames his shoddy performance in their next round on that; the tip of Jin’s blade rests below his chin before he knows it. 

“Pay attention,” Jin tells him, unimpressed.

“To you? Always,” Ryuzo says. Then: “Again.” He can’t afford distraction, he reminds himself. Lord Nagao’s tournament is the most important event of his life. It will determine _everything_ ; not even a stolen glance from Jin holds that much power.

This match is much closer. Their swords slide off of one another, blades singing, metal glinting. Jin’s fast, but he’s still out of rhythm with himself. Too easily, this time it’s Ryuzo catching Jin unaware, and Jin pants as they both return to their positions.

“It has to be done,” Jin murmurs, almost to himself. He fists his empty hand, hitting his chest gently with a huff. Louder: “Once more.” 

They ready themselves. They begin.

Ryuzo’s heart flutters like a bird at the way Jin sets upon him. There’s something different about this round, and he can’t find a moment’s breath enough to consider what it is. Jin’s steps are surer. His body curves with his blade, as if he feels his katana like another limb. Ryuzo can keep up, but not forever; already, his lungs feel liquid, his muscles twitching with every kiss of their swords.

The last blow of Jin’s blade, barely blocked by Ryuzo’s own, slips any comparisons of himself to Jin sinking into murky water. Like chipping a chunk of rock from a forming statue, Ryuzo knows with the same heavy drop of gravity —

They are nothing alike, in the end. He needs to prove himself, and it can’t be at Jin’s side.

It has to be against him.

No final blow is ever given. Jin calls the fight, panting and exhausted, after the sun has already set. Ryuzo can barely catch his breath, fatigue mercilessly dragging him to slump against the big red tree.

They don’t talk about that sparring match. Ryuzo wishes the most easily remembered thing about that day was the way Jin had looked at him by the lake, as if in that moment Ryuzo was not alone in his once-whimsical desires.

***

“Something changed after that,” Ryuzo finishes, delicately focused on retelling the fight alone. “I don’t know what. But after that day, we didn’t spar. The next time I fought him was the tournament. There, he was like a man possessed.”

“You did say he has always been good,” Kiyochika points out. 

“He _has_ always been good, very good. But that tournament — and when I fought him in Castle Kaneda…Whatever he kept leashed, wrapped up inside of him, that’s loose now.” Ryuzo shakes his head. “No going back.” 

Kiyochika only hums thoughtfully. If he is reconsidering, he shows no sign of it. They approach the camp with nothing more said between them.

“So.” Ryuzo looks one last time at the other Straw Hat. “What do you think about your own odds?” 

As if the remark has colored him once more, Kiyochika tosses Ryuzo a wide grin. “Come now, Ryuzo, I know better than to gamble on myself.” 

Kiyochika urges his horse faster, until those heavy hooves begin to kick up muddy clods of the road; his horse gives a wild shake of her mane, and only a moment later, Kiyochika is long past speaking distance, heading well away from the camp.

Only days later, news of Kiyochika’s death reaches them. Ryuzo wonders if in his last moments, Kiyochika regretted following him. He wonders how many others, still living, still breathing, might feel that way, too.

* * *

_A Ghost Tale (2/5)_

“Do you mind?” 

Ryuzo glances up at the Straw Hat settling into the seat by the campfire next to him. The light glows along the edge of the thickly-bound hat, but does not illuminate the ronin’s face beneath. “Do I mind what?” Ryuzo prompts when nothing else is said.

“Do you mind that we five have sworn an oath to kill Sakai Jin?” asks the Straw Hat again, and with his chin canted slightly higher, Ryuzo sees Tomotsugu’s gentle smile.

Ryuzo does not respond at first, only turning his gaze towards the fire. “Of course not,” he says then, soundly enough that it nearly convinces himself too. “I tried to kill him. The Khan will continue to try. Everyone in Tsushima will want to sink their blade into Jin at some point or another. The Ghost is infamous.”

“Hmm.”

“If you have a concern, speak it. Unless you fear Kojiro will take your thoughtfulness for uncertainty, then I recommend you keep it to yourself.” 

Tomotsugu’s kindly smile wavers upward. “No, no. I only thought that you might have something personal at stake.”

Something in Ryuzo’s chest swoops awry. “If we’ve stayed on good terms despite my attempt to trade his head for pay, then it’s news to me.” 

“Friends once are still friends, once.” 

There is a touch of wisdom to the words that brings Ryuzo pause. Not for the first time, he wants to ask Tomotsugu what road dared lead him to the Straw Hats, and not to something more stable, more sane. Surely he would do better living a simple life, something respected. Ryuzo knows he likes to fish. He could live on the coast and make enough to get by, were they not at war now. 

But Ryuzo has lived this life long enough to have learned that a quiet tone and sage advice do not exempt someone from enjoying the thrill of killing and the sport of death.

“Tell me about him,” Tomotsugu says with warm invitation.

At a loss, Ryuzo wracks his memories. 

“When we were younger,” he starts, quiet so as to not draw the attention of every nearby Straw Hat, “we used to get drunk together whenever I could steal him away. He just became so damn _rigid_ sometimes, and so I wanted to find an opportunity to help him relax. I think it was when we were seventeen… Right around the anniversary of his father’s death, and he’s always liked Kii Brewery’s sake, from Azamo…” 

***

“ _Ryuzo_ ,” slurs Jin, gripping at Ryuzo’s wrist desperately. “Ryu…zo.” 

“Jin,” Ryuzo says right back, indulgent with warmth full and buzzing under his skin.

They’re both sprawled in the roof space of an empty farmhouse, sharing the last gourd Ryuzo brought. Ryuzo has propped himself against the wall while he drains the rest of the sake and Jin is flat on his stomach, his head on top of Ryuzo’s leg, cheek pillowed there against him. It’s doing things to Ryuzo’s heartbeat that he thought were only possible when — when in the middle of a fight, or sprinting away from a pack of angry farmer’s kids because they were convinced he stole from them even though he didn’t, or… 

“Ryuzo!” 

He startles upright, spilling the final few drops of sake from the gourd, down onto Jin’s cheek. 

“Sorry,” he tells Jin hastily, wiping the liquid off with a few messy swipes of his hand, but Jin only groans and turns his head down to rest his forehead against Ryuzo’s thigh instead. Ryuzo says, hand drifting away from Jin’s hidden face, “What, what is it?” 

Jin breathes, “oh,” with some remembered thing, then pushes himself off of Ryuzo (shame!) and up onto his arms, peering very earnestly into Ryuzo’s eyes. Ryuzo stares at him until Jin says, seriously, “Never, ever tell me how you bought this much sake. Or I might do it myself. And that’s…a lot of sake.” 

Then Jin slumps right back down, but this time his head’s in Ryuzo’s _lap_. Ryuzo nearly bites his tongue clean off. 

“Can’t you get all the sake you want?” Ryuzo asks, dazed. “You’re Lord Sakai.” 

There’s a mumbled, slurred response from Jin, a hot breath right into Ryuzo’s lap, and Ryuzo’s mind goes pleasantly blank. Unthinking, he drops his hand into Jin’s hair and tosses the empty gourd lightly over into the nearby corner, where it clatters and rolls to a stop beside a couple others, also finished. With all the bleary mess in his head, Ryuzo’s already dreading when Jin will come back to life enough that he’ll start to worry about this little departure from responsibility and duty. He’ll begin saying things like, _oh, it’s getting late_ , or _oh, I need to go_ , and _oh, we can’t keep sneaking off like this, can we,_ and Ryuzo’s still very much rooted in the happy place that comes with good company and enough drink that he doesn’t want those words to cross Jin’s lips just yet.

Call him selfish. It wouldn’t be untrue. 

For now, though…for now…Ryuzo slides his fingers through Jin’s hair lightly, so gentle it’s barely there, memorizing the moment.

“Who says I bought it?” Ryuzo murmurs in late reply, a smile beginning to quirk along his mouth.

He’s rewarded with a very undignified squawk from Jin, who rolls over and starts demanding to know what he means by that, did he steal, did he steal _without him there_ , how _could he_ , and Ryuzo leaps at the chance to use a rarely-used diversion to dodge Jin’s incoming scolding: he starts to imitate Lord Shimura until Jin is red-faced and teary-eyed from trying to suppress the laughter threatening to bubble out of him.

Sucking in his cheeks and sticking out his chin in a mockery of authority, Ryuzo chops a hand in the air decisively. “Jin, remember this: When we attempt to drink another under the table...we must do it… _honorably_!” 

“You — you can’t say that,” Jin manages through a choked noise.

“Nephew! It is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot say,” Ryuzo chuffs with a mighty stiffness. It takes quite a lot of work to keep from grinning. “Don’t you know the jitō cannot be silenced—”

“ _Ryuzo_!” 

“Control your emotions…and you will control your drink—” 

Jin wheezes and begs mercy until Ryuzo makes himself cackle with another comment about mercy being granted only through the honor this and honor that, and then they both laugh and laugh until they cough and scrub tears from their eyes and Ryuzo doesn’t, not even a little bit, think about how glad he is that he can make Jin laugh so freely even in the worst time of the year for him.

The last thing Ryuzo remembers, kept ever untold, is that back in those days, every time Jin laughed and his lips parted and his eyes danced, Ryuzo could imagine kissing the smile right off of his mouth.

***

Before Tomotsugu departs for the coast by Kawamata Village, he bows to Ryuzo. “Thank you,” he says to him.

“Fight well,” Ryuzo says as he bows in return, feeling too strangled to say more.

They both straighten. Through the openings in the weaved brim of his hat, Tomotsugu’s eyes sparkle. Ryuzo says nothing. Suddenly, he wants to apologize. He already knows how this will end; he knows, for all of these Straw Hats, what awaits them.

Tomotsugu mounts his horse. “Take care, Ryuzo.”

“I hear the fishing is good off of the rocks,” Ryuzo says, his heart like a war drum.

“So have I,” Tomotsugu replies, smiling.

Ryuzo watches Tomotsugu’s horse until the fog eats his silhouette whole. He’s not at all surprised when he hears of Tomotsugu’s defeat. That night, he drinks the cheapest thing he can find. 

“Ngh…” He drains it dry, then sighs at the empty bottom of the gourd. Forlorn, he tries to swallow the flavor from his mouth. Hopeless. “Jin’s right. Kii Brewery is the best.”

* * *

_A Ghost Tale (3/5)_

Not every Straw Hat followed Ryuzo to Toyotama. Some left when they discovered he was taking the bounty, with at least a thank you. Others disappeared altogether; one evening they were there, and the day after, gone with the morning sun. Some of these men Ryuzo had known since he first joined himself, when his spirit had been broken and stitched sloppily together by nothing more than the raw drive to survive. 

In the first days after reaching Toyotama, faced with the loss of some very good men and the injuries Jin doled out upon him, Ryuzo felt like a shadow of his self from the past, as if Lord Nagao’s tournament had come back to haunt him, as if Jin’s relentless strikes then had been exactly like the pleading cuts from Castle Kaneda. Once again, Ryuzo was left to swallow bitter blood and run into the only corner that remained for him, and Jin went back to his uncle, proud and victorious. 

Now, Ryuzo is healed and the Straw Hats are more firmly planted in Toyotama. After word spread, the ones remaining sought out friends, old acquaintances, partners. Their numbers increased. The instability of war draws all sorts out of the ashes, and the Straw Hats soon had more in their number than they’d had in Izuhara. Ryuzo could lift his head again. He had not lost everything. And he _wouldn’t_. He couldn’t.

Their new recruits aren’t perfect, though. Bandits throw rags to the wind and don woven hats. Smugglers and guards for merchant caravans of unspoken goods rally with raucous laughter. Often, they do not even bother to introduce themselves to Ryuzo. They simply take the name _Straw Hat ronin_ and go. Because of this and more, not all of the veteran Straw Hats take to the newcomers with welcome arms. 

Ryuzo finds Kanetomo facing down a terrified recruit who’s fallen to the ground, left staring up at Kanetomo’s blade pointed at him. Ryuzo comes closer until he’s in Kanetomo’s line of sight; Kanetomo doesn’t even look at him, but the recruit whips his head around to see Ryuzo, then takes the chance to snatch up his hat and sprint away with a near-tumble.

“Stop intimidating all the new blood,” Ryuzo says flatly. “I’ll have to go listen to a sad story about his mother, or whatever else drove him to us.” 

“I’m _bored_ ,” says Kanetomo beseechingly. “And no one here will fight me. What am I to do then, Ryuzo?”

“They have good instincts. They won’t fight you because they know you’ll try to kill them.” 

Kanetomo grins, sheathing his sword. “If they weren’t prepared for death, they wouldn’t have joined the Straw Hats.” 

Ryuzo only shakes his head and begins to walk away.

“Ryuzo!” shouts Kanetomo, and Ryuzo hears him begin to follow. “Tell me a story, won’t you?” 

“Once, there was a ronin who kept putting off patrols to terrorize his allies…” Ryuzo glances at Kanetomo. “Sound familiar? It should.” 

Kanetomo chuckles. “No, no. Tell me about _him_.” 

Ryuzo’s chest tightens. He waits it out then asks, “Who?” 

“You know. Lord Sakai. Your Jin.” 

_Your Jin_ —

Kanetomo is smiling at him, his patchwork hat not quite low enough to hide the dark amusement in his eyes. Ryuzo stares at him until he feels his heartbeat rattle slower again, and then he says, voice carefully even, “What kind of story?” 

“Tell me how it is to fight him,” Kanetomo says, lighting up. “Does his blade swipe left? Does he dodge right? How is his grip?” 

When Jin draws, he draws right. He favors a downward swing afterwards. He dodges in wide movements that clear him of most hits that come his way. If he’s not far enough, he’ll have already raised his sword to protect whichever side is most vulnerable. Ryuzo thinks of all of this, and with his blood rushing hot, tells Kanetomo, “I don’t know. He’s learned a lot since I was close with him.” 

“Good,” breathes Kanetomo, “that’s good.” 

Ryuzo exhales, irritation like needlepoints in his back. “You still want a story? Let me think.” 

Kanetomo’s teeth show in a grin that’s more snarl than smile. He settles down on a nearby fallen tree, leaning his elbows on his knees, his eyes set on Ryuzo. “Take your time,” he says, that little kindness sounding more like slow-working venom when it comes from him.

Ryuzo stays silent, and then, straightening with a roll of his shoulders, he begins, “We had a game together…”

***

When Jin is restless, there is no getting him to sit still. He insists he’s learned to bear it, but Ryuzo can tell when the prickling sensation of need-to-go is beginning to creep under Jin’s skin. The sun beams down on them from above, their knees bent and feet beneath them. Jin’s posture is immaculate, Ryuzo notices, peeking open one eye to look. But his fingers are clenching and unclenching where they rest, his usually lax brows coming together _just_ enough.

Well, Ryuzo can’t focus if Jin’s not relaxing. He breaks the impenetrable quiet between them: “What if it started to rain?” 

Jin’s lashes twitch as if he’s going to open his eyes, but they remain closed as he murmurs, “We’re meant to be—”

“Meditating, I know. What is it Lord Shimura says? Steady your mind first, and the body will follow? Answer the question. What if it started to rain?”

“Then we’d get wet.” 

“Good answer,” Ryuzo replies dryly. “Alright. Your turn.” 

Jin is quiet for so long that Ryuzo begins to wonder if he didn’t hear him, but then Jin says, “What if a golden bird landed right in front of us?” 

“If one decided we were interesting enough to investigate, then I suppose we’d have to give up meditation and call ourselves two of Tsushima’s hidden treasures.” 

Jin’s lips twitch. Ryuzo hasn’t stopped looking at him since they began. “Alright,” Jin says. “Go.” 

“What if we rode from here all the way down to Azamo Bay?”

“Our horses would be very tired. We’d owe them some spoiling.”

“We could take plenty of breaks. The scenery would be beautiful.” 

“…Do you want to? Just the two of us?” 

“Ah,” Ryuzo says. “Only what-if questions.” 

“What if…what if…” Jin pauses, then seems to give up. “Fine. What if we have octopus for dinner?” 

“I can’t argue with you. You’ll pout if you don’t get it.” 

Jin’s laugh is but an exhale from his nose, and yet Ryuzo feels as if he’s won something. “It’s your turn.” 

“I know I’m not wrong,” Ryuzo complains. “So, what if…” 

Back and forth, like perfect-form parries in a spar, the game continues. Hypothetical questions, real questions, questions that could go either way, they talk the sun down from the sky. Night is growing closer by the time that Ryuzo really does start to feel like it’s time for their dinner, and he says, “Last one, Jin.” 

There is a long draw of silence. Ryuzo’s looking elsewhere, but when moments pass and Jin still hasn’t spoken, he peeks over at him. Jin’s eyes are closed, his brows furrowed again, hands clenched in his lap. Another few seconds tick past. Ryuzo starts to frown.

Jin opens his mouth, and starts, quiet, “What if I asked you to be my—”

“Lord Sakai!” calls someone, approaching from Castle Shimura. Ryuzo stiffens, Jin freezes. “Lord Sakai! The jitō requests your presence at once!”

Jin opens his eyes just as Ryuzo darts his gaze away. “Walk with me,” Jin says, soft, and Ryuzo rises with him. 

More than anything, Ryuzo wants to know what Jin was going to say, but he can’t make the words leave his tongue. He swallows, and then says, “It’s still your turn,” wondering if maybe Jin will repeat himself.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jin hums. Then: “What if we drink together tonight?” 

With a sinking feeling, Ryuzo knows this isn’t the question that Jin was going to ask before. Still, he smiles, wrapping his arm briefly around Jin’s shoulders with a friendly jostle. “Ah, ah. Now how can I say no to that?” 

“Only what-if questions,” Jin reminds him, good-humored.

Ryuzo turns his face away from him as he laughs softly. “The game is over, Jin. Go see what your uncle wants.” 

They part ways. He watches Jin walk the rest of the way with the attendant. For weeks onward, he’ll wonder from time to time what Jin would have asked of him, but when nothing comes of it and the day of the tournament arrives, Ryuzo will think no more of it. Not for years to come.

*** 

The disbelief on Kanetomo’s face gives way to distaste. He sneers, “And what was the point of telling me all that?” 

“I didn’t tell it for your benefit,” Ryuzo says, sharp, his heart racing. He turns to go, waving dismissively. “You should prepare, Kanetomo.” 

“Oh,” Kanetomo says, wrath bubbling low in his tone, “I will.”

Soon after, Ryuzo begins to hear of people going missing on the east coast of Toyotama, past Kubara Falls. Mere days later, and he hears from a scout that Kanetomo himself has gone quiet, and then, a day later, found dead — along with the corpses of the missing people. Where the wounds on the peasants were brutal and messy, the marks on Kanetomo’s body were expert and clean, his body left to rot in the leaf mulch.

That night, Ryuzo sits alone on a rooftop in the outskirts of Old Yarikawa, watching fireflies gather.

“What if,” he says aloud to the dark, “we could go back?” 

No answer comes. He laughs his own foolishness away, digging the heel of his palm into his pounding head.

* * *

_A Ghost Tale (4/5)_

“Ryuzo.” 

Glancing up from the plans that the Khan has presented him, Ryuzo sees Yasumasa standing in the entrance of the room he’s staked in Castle Shimura. He’s stayed here with Jin before, a lifetime ago, and now that the Mongols have made the decision to occupy the castle until they ready themselves to ride north, Ryuzo has taken the only place familiar to him. It is a bittersweet familiarity, all things considered.

“Yasumasa,” Ryuzo greets, beckoning him in. “What brings you here?” 

Yasumasa sits across from Ryuzo, then nods gratefully. “I am here to thank you.” 

“You’re headed out, then?” 

“Mm. Samurai should have been snuffed out on the beach. I’m finishing what the Mongols started.”

Ryuzo looks at him. “If that’s the case, you should be thanking Kojiro, not me.” 

“It was your choice to take up the Mongols’ bounty that led us here. Your decisions. You’ve made the right ones. We’ll survive this way. We ronin will forge a place for ourselves yet.” 

“The Khan has a plan for the Ghost,” Ryuzo says lightly, “so don’t feel the need to prove yourself.” 

“Ha. I’ll show all of Tsushima — and the Mongols, and the shogun himself…samurai are worthless. No need to rebuild their kind.” 

Ryuzo calmly folds the plans in front of him, then laces his fingers together. “You think the Ghost can still be considered a samurai? After the things he’s been doing?” 

“So he’s a half-breed,” Yasumasa drawls. “But he’s the jitō’s nephew, too. Samurai runs in their blood, doesn’t it.” 

There are things that Ryuzo has never asked Yasumasa: where his bitterness to samurai comes from is one of them. Many ronin feel similarly, but Yasumasa’s hatred is personal, deep-seated and raw. Ryuzo can nearly taste the blood that must boil deep inside of Yasumasa whenever samurai are mentioned. Yasumasa had kept very quiet upon Jin’s first visits to the Straw Hats, and he’d been the first to drink to Ryuzo’s acceptance of the Mongol’s bounty. 

Ryuzo couldn’t recall what Yasumasa had been doing during the slaughter at Komoda beach. It wouldn’t surprise him to find out he’d been on the side of the Mongols, firing off flaming arrows right along with them.

Well, Ryuzo won’t get another chance to ask. Might as well.

“Yasumasa,” he says. “Why do you hate them so much?”

He’s expecting spitting anger. Or a manic cackle. Instead, Yasumasa smiles, the softest smile that Ryuzo has ever seen on his sour face.

“Because,” Yasumasa says, “they will say all of the things you want to hear. And they will do all of the things you don’t want them to do. And they will tell you they do it because of things beyond your comprehension, as an _outsider_. That you lack the training.” 

_I looked for you after the tournament_.

Ryuzo ducks his head to hide his rueful expression. “It’s personal, then.” 

“Very.” Yasumasa’s tone is clipped again. “In my younger days, I shared a samurai’s bed for three years. Then I grew wiser.” 

Ryuzo is still reeling from the knowledge that Yasumasa once shared a close space with a samurai without gutting him. “And you left.” 

“He said he would train me,” says Yasumasa, leering. “He said he would teach me what honor meant. He only spoke to me while I helped him put his armor on.”

For a split second, Ryuzo imagines if that could have been him. If he would have said something to Jin, all those years ago. Or if Jin would have said something first. If they had been bedmates, if they would have been more. If it would have gotten to the point where Ryuzo would ask Jin for a night of his time, and Jin would brush him off and tell him tomorrow, always tomorrow. 

Ryuzo had never been the one to hang onto Jin’s ankles, to drag Jin’s attention back to him. Jin had chased him, most of the time. Nowadays, he feels like he wouldn’t mind being the one to beg for a drink with his friend.

Yasumasa swears then, and Ryuzo blinks the memories out of his eyes. Yasumasa points directly at him. “Your face — that _face_ — I’ll kill him for you. You know what it’s _like_.” 

Ryuzo feels like he’s been dipped into hot water. “No, no! No. Jin and I—” 

“I killed bandits for mine,” Yasumasa interrupts. “I joined him on all his lone hunts. Every time we returned, he would say he’d done the work.” Ryuzo stares as Yasumasa rants. “I know about Lord Nagao’s tournament. You valued him, is that it? You thought he valued you, too. But he used you.” 

At the time, that’s what Ryuzo thought. But—

“He used you, took advantage of your intimacy.” 

“No,” Ryuzo finally interrupts, exasperated and finding his composure, feeling like he’s on a ledge with a long way down below him. “No, that’s…Just listen. We were never like _that_ …” 

***

In the days before the tournament, it wasn’t rare for Ryuzo to have to steal Jin away from the other myriad of people that surrounded him. His samurai friends often visited. Occasionally, Lord Shimura himself. Other clans, too. On this night, Ryuzo managed to procure some sake, two bows and an excess of arrows, and the hope that the prospect of spending the evening like this instead of hearing out another bunch of territory disputes and trade talk is just the thing to tempt Jin outside.

It does the trick. Jin’s eyes light up when Ryuzo pitches his idea, and then they’re off.

They ride to the camp that Ryuzo has already set up, targets posted on trees a good distance away. He tosses Jin a bow, then points at the quiver lain between them, arrows spilling out of it. 

“A drink for each time you hit the center,” Ryuzo says, grinning. “To make it more fun.” 

“It would be fun if we were already drinking it,” Jin fires back, but already he’s lining up a shot.

His arrow flies true, but it’s a smidge off. Ryuzo finds himself very pleased with this while Jin gives his bow a thoughtful frown. Ryuzo aims his own shot next, the arrow puncturing deep into the belly of the wooden circle. He glances at Jin, grinning, to find Jin already eyeing him.

“You’ve been practicing,” Jin notes, looking him up and down.

Ryuzo’s nerves suddenly catch on fire as he downs his earned sip. “More than you.”

“I’ve been busy.” Jin tests his bowstring, notching another arrow. He lifts the arrow eye level, stance gentling out into something closer to perfect.

“I noticed.” Ryuzo watches him, idling by the sake. This time, Jin’s shot pierces the center of his target, and Ryuzo hands him the gourd. “Clan Adachi has been visiting often. Which daughter wants to marry you?” 

Jin maintains his silence as he walks to the target to pull the arrows free. Ryuzo follows, nearly tripping over his own feet in his disbelieving haste. “What, really?” Ryuzo demands. 

“It is about that time, isn’t it?” Jin murmurs. “They’re being very polite about it.” 

“Of course they are! They’re trying to sell you one of their daughters!”

“Ryuzo.” Jin looks at him sharply. “I wouldn’t.” 

“Wouldn’t what? Marry?” 

Jin hesitates. “I wouldn’t…think of it like that. Clan Adachi has been nothing but cordial. It would be purely diplomatic.” 

Ryuzo can’t believe what he’s hearing. He can’t pin down the flighty sensation somewhere under his lungs, either. Jin has already removed his own arrows from the target, but Ryuzo hasn’t so much as lifted his hand. “You’re still young,” he says, the excuse flimsy off his tongue.

Jin spares him a glance. “You don’t think I should consider it.”

“I think…” Ryuzo’s mind topples over itself. “None of them are a good match for you.” 

Now it’s more than a glance that Jin gives him. “What?” 

“You need…” Ryuzo yanks his own arrow out of his target, stalking back to their original spots. He huffs a sound of dismay, then finishes firmly, “You need someone who _challenges_ you.” 

He’s already made it back with another arrow at the ready when he realizes that Jin hasn’t taken a single step to follow, still standing halfway between the targets and Ryuzo. The shadow of night falls across Jin’s face just deeply enough that Ryuzo can’t see his expression; only his silhouette, and his arms, draped loosely by his sides. 

“Come on, Jin!” Ryuzo shouts, agitated, and it gets Jin moving again. 

When Jin is out of the way, Ryuzo takes aim and lets his arrow go. His aim is all wrong, landing in the target, but not nearly close enough to the center. He hisses under his breath. Having waited for Ryuzo, Jin raises his bow, just about to loose his fingers, but then he lowers the bow and releases the tension with care.

“Do you have something against Clan Adachi?” he asks Ryuzo, and Ryuzo groans outright before Jin continues: “If you did, I would hear what you have to say.”

“You would take my word over theirs?” 

Jin arches one brow at him. “You’re my friend, Ryuzo,” he says, like that alone is answer enough. 

Ryuzo turns his head, focusing briefly on the targets, then snatching up the sake for a long drink. He shoves the gourd into Jin’s hand afterwards, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. “It makes sense. Everyone says Lord Adachi’s the best swordsman in Tsushima.” 

“You disagree.” 

Ryuzo looks at Jin briefly, considering, then carries on. “It’s an honor for Clan Adachi to approach you, isn’t it?” 

Jin smiles slightly, taking a smaller sip from the gourd before setting it down again. “They’re not the first. Just the friendliest.” 

“Excuse me for presuming, _Lord Sakai_.” Ryuzo’s words are sharper than they need to be, but he can’t quell the waves of discomfort roiling inside of him with the knowledge that however many others are trying to earn Jin’s favor. 

Jin doesn’t take it to heart it seems, laughing under his breath. “Who should I marry, then? If not someone from Clan Adachi.” He returns to raising his bow, and his arrow strikes home in the core of the target. He grins at Ryuzo, snatching up the gourd again. 

Ryuzo thinks that’s blatantly unfair of Jin, to steal away the drink when _Ryuzo’s_ the one in need of it right now. “Someone you get along with,” Ryuzo says, staring down at his own target and the arrow that missed its mark. “Someone who makes you _think_. You tend to be a little too nice. The rest of the world’s going to see that, too. You can’t fall over yourself doing everything for anyone who says please.” 

“Hm.” 

Deliberately, Ryuzo lays down his bow and takes the gourd from Jin, who blinks at him. “I surrender,” Ryuzo announces. “As it turns out, firing arrows makes the talk of marriage feel morbid.” 

“Does it? I found it thrilling,” Jin says playfully.

There is no training, no sparring, no technique in the world that could teach Ryuzo how to handle the way Jin keeps him on his toes. Ryuzo takes a long drink, then pulls away from Jin’s reaching hands. “Hey, hey. You’ll get your turn.” 

Ryuzo does share the rest of the sake, and they give up on archery, spending some time silently swapping the gourd back and forth. Sometimes, Ryuzo chances a look for a little too long, watching Jin’s throat move as he drinks. Sometimes, Ryuzo catches a glimpse of Jin’s expression afterwards and thinks he must have noticed.

“You’re right,” Jin says, eventually. “I won’t marry someone from Clan Adachi.” 

Ryuzo nearly coughs up his sake. “You have someone else in mind?” he manages, hiding the rasp of near-choking by clearing his throat.

Jin gives nothing more than a noncommittal hum. The fireflies gathered in the trees around them gild the leaves of the moonlit forest. It’s a warm night, but Ryuzo feels frozen.

“We’ll see,” Jin says.

Ryuzo dares not ask. In hindsight, he wishes he had.

***

After Ryuzo finishes, with some _major_ edits to what he shares, Yasumasa makes a disgruntled sound and stands up. “This changes nothing,” he tells Ryuzo. “He still grew up pampered. You tried to work for what you wanted. He never needed to lift a finger.” 

No, Jin never needed to. But he always had. 

“Yasumasa,” Ryuzo says, looking up at him. “All due respect? You don’t know Jin.” 

“Don’t I?” Yasumasa grins, all teeth. “You talk about him so much.”

The room is so quiet that if either of them were to move, one would clearly hear the shifting of cloth, the creaking of wood. Yasumasa doesn’t budge, only continues to bear his teeth down at him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t want something from him once,” he adds.

Finally, finally, Ryuzo allows, “…Once.” 

“Good.” Yasumasa turns around. “Because I’m going to show him that ronin will build the future of Tsushima, not _samurai_.” 

Ryuzo waits until Yasumasa slides his door shut again, and then he drags his hands down his face.

“Sakai Jin,” Ryuzo mumbles into his palms, “isn’t just any samurai.” 

* * *

_A Ghost Tale (5/5)_

Ryuzo is the one to seek out Hirotsune, finding the Straw Hat packing his meager things. Ryuzo leans against the sturdy support of the yurt for a moment, watching without interrupting, and then he asks, “And where have you chosen to meet the Ghost?”

Hirotsune glances up to see him. “The Field of the Equinox Flower,” he says, as if he’s already told a dozen other people. Perhaps he has. “In Umugi.” 

“That’s not too far a distance from Yasumasa. Are you hoping that Jin will find you before or after he finds him?” 

“Oh,” Hirotsune sighs, “Yasumasa will make sure Lord Sakai finds him first. Haven’t you heard?” 

Ryuzo frowns. “What is it?” 

“He plans on taking a child from a nearby town to try and catch Lord Sakai’s attention.” 

“If that’s the case, I expect he won’t be waiting long.”

Hirotsune’s laugh is quiet. “I told him the same.”

For a time, Ryuzo allows Hirotsune to ready himself in peace. When Hirotsune steps out to begin walking to his horse, Ryuzo walks with him, examining the other man. Hirotsune appears unhurried, and there is no grave concern on his face. Understanding, yes. Something eager, yes. But nothing about him gives away that he’s walking to his death and he knows it.

“Out of every one of you,” Ryuzo says, “I thought you’d know better.”

Hirotsune, loading up his horse, scoffs. “What, because I’m not afraid?” 

“The Mongols are.” 

Hirotsune is nearly impish as he asks, “Are _you_? You said he’s the greatest swordsman you’ve ever known. I know you speak from experience.”

“These days, I’m beginning to think I’m the only one who _can_ speak from experience,” Ryuzo mutters. “I think he’s killed everyone else who knows firsthand.” 

“Lucky you!”

Actually, Ryuzo thinks he’s incredibly unlucky, but that would require a much longer conversation than he came for. Before Hirotsune mounts his horse, Ryuzo offers him a sake gourd, which Hirotsune gratefully takes. 

“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t try to scare you away from doing this one last time,” Ryuzo says. “So spare me a moment.” 

“Oh, the sake is bribery?” Hirotsune grins, but he gestures at Ryuzo. “I’m listening.” 

“I’m sure you are. Because this isn’t a story you’ve heard before.” 

“About Lord Sakai?” 

Ryuzo shrugs — _who else?_ Hirotsune takes a sip of the sake, but otherwise Ryuzo knows he has his full attention. What Kiyochika told him still echoes in his ears from time to time. Maybe his stories about Jin have been unintentionally kind in portraying Jin’s ability. Ryuzo has never lied when he’s called Jin the best swordsman in all of Tsushima. He has never lied when he’s described his sword stance, his swings, his parries, his skill. He has never once overstated Jin’s bullheaded persistence, never allowing details to trip him from pursuing the end he wants. But he has also only rarely spoken of the ferocity he saw at times war with Jin’s trained poise.

Ryuzo doesn’t want to scare Hirotsune — but he would never forgive himself if he didn’t try to save his life. It’s what a good leader should do. And maybe he’s not such a good leader after all, but it’s his role, as much as it’s Jin’s to be the shadow hunting each of them down.

Hirotsune is still waiting. Ryuzo takes a deep breath, then begins to speak.

***

“This would have been easier,” Ryuzo hisses, “if we’d dressed as maidens.” 

“And snuck in with our blades hidden in our sleeves?” Jin whispers. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the door leading into the firelit house, bright and awake even at this time of night.

“You’re suggesting we break down the door. That’s suicide.” 

“ _You’re_ suggesting subterfuge—”

“You act like I told you to stab the lookout in the throat to use his blood as your lip color,” Ryuzo mutters. “That’s not what I said. But if we had disguises, we could go in, find the girl, and slip out, none the wiser.”

Jin flattens his mouth into an unyielding line that Ryuzo knows well. He won’t bend on this, Ryuzo realizes. They’re really going to take on an entire troop of bandits. By themselves.

“Your uncle doesn’t even know where we are, Jin,” Ryuzo breathes. “If we die, he’ll raze all of Tsushima looking for your body to bury.” 

Jin finally looks over at him. “You heard what the mother said back in Omi Village. We have no time for anything else. Every moment we waste is another moment that she might be—”

“I know,” Ryuzo says, tense. “I know.” 

Jin rests a hand on Ryuzo’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do this with me. You can go home.”

Ryuzo huffs, shaking off Jin’s touch only to reach up and cuff the back of his head. “And leave you to all the glory when we carry the girl home to her waiting mother? No, no. I’m not leaving you.” 

Jin smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

They approach. The lone bandit outside doesn’t see them at first, but as soon as they step out of the trees and into his line of sight, he raises the alarm with a shout. Ryuzo glances at Jin; his strides are steady. They stop outside the home, just as four more bandits appear, jeering.

No one moves. Ryuzo counts. Three of them have swords, one has a bow. Jin raises his head, looking from each bandit to the next, solemn and calm except for the pale bleed of his knuckles giving him away, his fists at his sides. Jin’s father died fighting people like this. Ryuzo can’t read what might be going through Jin’s head, but he’d bet his sword that Jin’s thinking the same thing.

“Bandits!” Jin calls out, his voice ringing sharply through the air, bouncing off the trees. “I am Sakai Jin, lord of Clan Sakai. Your stolen food and items, I can ignore. The number of lives you’ve taken before this night, I won’t ask. Tonight, I ask only one thing: that you return the girl you took from Omi Village.” 

One bandit spits on the dirt between them. Another snorts. 

Jin says, louder still, “Her mother has asked me to bring her home. She did not request that I show any mercy in doing so.” 

No one makes any move. And then barely there, right on the edge of hearing, there’s the sound of a bow stretching taut.

Ryuzo has his sword out in front of Jin before he even gives the order for his hands to move; an arrow bends on impact with Ryuzo’s blade and hits the ground. On the roof, a sixth bandit stands, already reaching for another arrow. Jin stands stock-still, his eyes wide. Ryuzo, furious, soundly slams him in the arm with the end of his katana’s grip.

“Move, Lord Sakai,” Ryuzo snaps, then shoves Jin. The next arrow glances off of Ryuzo’s arm; if he’d been a second slower pulling himself back from Jin, it would have pierced right through his clothing and into his flesh. 

It’s a bitter skirmish. Jin is instantly mobbed by three of the bandits, Ryuzo taking on only one, who steps between himself and Jin. The only consolation is that with so many enemies around Jin, the bandits wielding bows can get no clear shots, and Ryuzo’s certain he sees at least one arrow sink into the wrong person’s leg. 

The bandit who challenges Ryuzo is unpracticed, and after training with Jin and watching Clan Shimura samurai, Ryuzo knows exactly what to expect. They swap blows until Ryuzo manages a clean parry; with a quick adjustment, his blade catches the bandit’s open flank, and the man stares at him in shock as Ryuzo brings his buried sword across his stomach. He turns away from the spillage but can’t escape the sudden, sick smell of blood in the air as the bandit’s body collapses to the ground lifelessly.

Ryuzo spares a second to ensure Jin is still fighting, then rushes to the roof. There’s still an archer up here, and Ryuzo knows the height will give him an advantage the other archer lacks. He nearly catches an arrow to the face for his hasty clamber, ducking behind the slope of the roof, and then, launching himself onto the archer’s side of the roof, he swings his blade down, the archer only barely raising his bow to protect himself. The wooden bow nearly splits in half.

Their eyes meet. Ryuzo says, airy, “You should’ve brought a sword,” before yanking his sword free and sinking it into the archer’s chest. He topples the body off of the rooftop and pants for breath, getting his bearings in the momentary break.

But it isn’t just a break. Instantly, dread pools in his gut: it’s completely _silent_ , no clashing of metal or shouted warnings from the other archer he’d left fighting on the ground. Whatever fight had been going on is over.

“Jin!” Ryuzo shouts, fear causing his voice to crack. He scrambles off of the rooftop, landing with such haste that he stumbles when he lands. “ _Jin—_ ” 

“I’m here.” 

Ryuzo whirls around towards the house to see Jin covered in blood, holding a motionless young girl in his arms. He’s coated in it; even the grip of Clan Sakai’s katana has been dirtied. Where he’s holding onto the girl, red has smeared onto her clothing. 

Ryuzo stares at him, breathless. “Where were you injured?” 

“I wasn’t,” Jin says, quiet. 

“Liar.”

Jin just looks at him.

Speechless, Ryuzo laughs. “How many bandits? How many? And not a single one…” He trails off, his arms hanging beside him, and then flicks the blood from his own blade, returning it to its sheath. “Is that the girl?” 

“She must be.” Jin bundles her closer.

“Is she dead?” 

Jin frowns. “No. Unconscious. I think she’s been drugged.” 

“Easier transport that way.”

“They wanted to get her on a ship. Smuggle her who knows where.” 

Ryuzo takes a long breath. “We should get her back to her mother.” 

Jin starts walking in the direction they left their horses, not sparing even a glance at the fallen bandits around them. Ryuzo looks, and looks hard — all dead, all pooling blood on the ground. The last archer that Ryuzo hadn’t gotten to is slumped against the side of the home. Jin must have taken down all of the bandits with swords and then rushed into the house, cutting down the archer on the way… 

Ryuzo stares into Jin’s back as they walk.

“Thank you, Ryuzo,” Jin says once they’ve returned the girl to her home, once they’re riding back to their own homes together. “You saved me from my own hesitation.” 

Ryuzo can’t get the bandits out of his head. “It’s fine. You would have done it for me.” 

Jin nods immediately, not a doubt in his steady gaze.

Then, Ryuzo would have never imagined being on the opposite side of that same righteous fury. Now that he’s had it turned towards him, he knows that it’s the closest he’ll ever feel to dueling a storm.

***

Hirotsune looks no less put off than he had before Ryuzo relayed the memory to him. In fact, he appears…delighted. “Thank you, Ryuzo,” he says, giving him a bow. “I will take your words to heart.”

“And you’ll face him still.” 

Hirotsune grins. “It will be an honor.” 

Ryuzo has never felt honored when he’s really, truly fought Jin. The sudden sweeping envy that he feels for Hirotsune is outdone only by the weariness that overcomes it. 

Before Hirotsune goes, Ryuzo blurts, “Tell him—”

He stops himself just in time. Hirotsune looks at him, waiting.

Ryuzo bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, then shakes his head. “Never mind. Go.” 

They hear no word back from Hirotsune, but Kojiro falls off the map not long after, and they all know what that means. On the horizon, lightning crackles and thunder rolls.

Ryuzo lifts his face up to the first droplets of rain.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Ryuzo heard the Ghost and Lord Shimura passed through Umugi Cove not long ago, looking for a smuggler, and on the way they managed to take control of Fort Mitodake and even broke through the boats lining the sea; likely, they’re sending word to the shogun, and reinforcements will be incoming. 

More of Ryuzo’s men are dying every day. More of the Mongols are growing scared. They lose ground everywhere that the Ghost haunts. No one speaks of the mainland, nor do they speak of the jitō. Just the Ghost.

Time has never felt so slippery. 

Ryuzo spots a familiar musician from the entrance to the Cove, quickly heading over. Yamato startles when he hears his footsteps, glancing around, and when he sees it’s only Ryuzo he seems to relax.

“My ronin friend,” Yamato says, relieved. “What brings you back?” 

Ryuzo smiles slightly. “Kojiro is dead.” 

Yamato pauses the strumming of his strings. “A Ghost is stronger than a demon, then. The people will be happy to hear this story.” 

Something in Ryuzo’s chest opens up wide and yearning. “You tell the story of the Ghost?”

“As long as I have breath to speak it, his tale will be known to those who will listen,” Yamato says, simple and pleased. “It is a good story so far, isn’t it?”

Ryuzo thinks, desperate, _It’s the best story_ , and isn’t that the entire problem? He fists his hands tightly. 

“Why don’t you sit with me a moment?” Yamato asks, strumming a lilting few notes into the air.

He looks at Yamato. Around them, Umugi Cove bustles, life spinning onward, but Ryuzo is the only one spending a few precious moments with a musician. Soon, Jin and his friends will march on Castle Shimura. Soon, there will be no Straw Hats to lead.

Ryuzo lowers himself across from Yamato, folding his legs neatly beneath him.

“Tell me the tale of the Ghost,” Ryuzo says, pouring some sake between them. “And I’ll tell you a tale of Sakai Jin.”

**Author's Note:**

> I took a lot of liberties with the Straw Hats in this (Yasumasa especially, because I held a grudge against him after he killed me so many times) but I only had like two bits of dialogue for each of them so only God may judge me
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
